Easy Fear
by XxXxDarkVampirexXxX
Summary: Harry uses Parseltongue to tell everyone what he REALLY feels about them. Rated for swears and Harry's mature comments about various males. GoF onward. Slightly AU! Preslash? The pairing is still just a possibility.
1. Chapter 1

**Yo! So, this is something that's been on my mind since I wrote a certain chapter in one of my other fics, and thought it was funny. This is really just for the shits and giggles, but there is some plot here too, and also a few warnings. First, swear words will be used, because teenagers. Second, a fourteen year old will be flirting with a lot of people he really shouldn't be flirting with, some of whom are much older than him, although they won't understand it. Third, none of these men will actually do anything to Harry, because when he's only fourteen, that's kind of creepy. ...I guess there's also a bit of Parseltongue kink here? In a sense? Because, you know, Slytherins. All these warnings are also subject to change, and more may be added, or removed in the future.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

When Harry Potter's name came flying out of the Goblet of Fire, the fourteen year old had felt as if his life was ending. He had spent the first few days following the...incident, in shock and disbelief, unable to believe what had happened, unable to believe he was being forced to compete, unable to believe _Ron_ had turned on him.

But as the shock began to fade, the anger had set in.

How _dare_ they!? All he did was give, give, give to this place, putting his life on the line time and time again, and never asking for anything in return, not even his own safety, and _this_ was how he was going to be treated!?

Fine! They could all just go and fuck themselves! _Especially_ Ron, the traitorous twat! Hmph!

Harry already knew what he was going to do to counter all this. Sure, it was probably going to ruin his reputation, but considering that there was even _less_ of a chance of him actually living through this year than _usual_ , well, whatever. Was it even possible for him to be treated any worse? It was hard to tell. Either way, when he was done, everyone was going to be terrified and regret what they had or hadn't done.

Because, Harry Potter wasn't just _any_ rebellious teenager. No, he was a rebellious teenager, who just _happened_ to have Marauder blood in him. A rebellious teenager with Marauder blood, who possessed a _very_ fascinating skill only the Dark Lord Voldemort himself could rival, a skill many were frightened-no, _terrified_ of.

Oh yes, this was going to be _very_ interesting indeed.

And as the young Potter smirked to himself, the inhabitants of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry suddenly found themselves filled with dread, though they had absolutely no idea why...

* * *

When Harry walked into the Great Hall the next morning for breakfast, it was with his head held high, and a smirk on his face. Well, that was certainly odd. Normally, he walked with his head down while frowning.

Unsurprisingly, Draco Malfoy was the first one to call him out on it. "What're you smirking about, Potter? Have a grown up dream, did you?" he mocked. He would have continued, having much more to say, if the other boy hadn't cut across him instead.

 **"Yeah, it was about your father,"** Harry replied rather casually.

Malfoy paled. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped at the sound of the sibilant response. "W-wha-?"

 **"Did you know he has a really nice arse? It's hard to look away from it."** He sighed mournfully. **"Too bad he's a prick."** And with that, the emerald eyed teen, still smirking, continued walking, and took a seat over at Gryffindor Table.

Ignoring the fact that he was being stared it, he began eating, seemingly unconcerned, but after a few minutes, it got really annoying, so he looked up, only now realizing Ron was the one seated across him. Shit. He hadn't been paying enough attention to have noticed.

 **"Problem, Ronald?"**

"H-Harry, what're you-"

Harry raised a dark brow. **"Oh, back to 'Harry' again, is it? Didn't you want me to piss off? What changed your mind?"** He spooned some cereal into his mouth, green eyes still locked on his dear 'best friend'. He wasn't sure if he would ever forgive Ron for this-for turning his back on him like this. Ron, of all people, should have known better.

Hermione suddenly slid onto the bench beside him, pulling the boy out of his thoughts, dropping her bag to the floor with a heavy sounding thump, and she reached for the pitcher of water immediately, looking flushed and breathless.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

Ron's eyes widened at the sound of normal English, but Harry ignored him. His revenge had hardly even begun!

The witch, unaware of what had been happening, nodded. "Yes, yes, it's nothing. Just had a very...unwelcome encounter with Parkinson, but she's been dealt with. Professor Moody happened upon us, and he's assigned her detention."

"Hmm, good. **Serves that bitch right."**

"H-Harry?" Hermione had fully understood the beginning of that sentence, but that last bit there, unless she had heard wrong, had been nothing but a strange sort of hissing. Was that what she thought it was?

Her green eyed friend merely smiled at her innocently. "Yes, lovely?"

Hermione looked at him closely, searching his face, making note of his expression, his posture, his eyes, and was sure she understood immediately. "Angry?"

"Absolutely livid," he replied pleasantly.

"Ah. Well, go on, then."

Harry grinned.

Many Gryffindors shivered at the sight.

 **And that's the beginning. Again, this is just for the laughs, though there is a bit of plot in it too, so don't take things too seriously. I started this on a whim while waiting to start watching Takeover, so I haven't fully thought everything through yet. Anyway, looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yo! Don't expect all chapters to be out this quickly. I had some time to kill before having to wash the dishes, so I was able to write and post this, but that's just luck. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

This was one thing Harry loved about Hermione. Others saw her as very close minded and an absolute stickler for the rules, but they didn't know that the bushy haired witch could be shockingly vindictive. She understood that Harry felt as if he had been betrayed, and if he wanted to go around talking in Parseltongue as revenge, well, who was _she_ to stop him?

Besides, seeing him pissed off was better than seeing him brooding, she told herself...

Even as breakfast came to an end and the fourth years began heading to class, unless he was speaking to Hermione, Harry didn't say a word in English to any of his classmates.

They sat there in Transfiguration, McGonagall lecturing them as they took notes, before having them practice the spell she had been telling them about. Not in the best of moods, Harry was having a hard time concentrating, and the professor wasn't particularly pleased to see that.

"Mr Potter! Enough daydreaming!"

Harry glanced up at her from beneath his fringe, but didn't say a word, waiting.

"I expect you to pay attention," the woman continued. "This spell is vital for your future."

Now _that_ caught Harry's attention. **"Why?"** he questioned.

McGonagall gasped, her eyes going wide. She wasn't the only one. The entire room had fallen silent in their shock.

"Mr Potter!"

 **"Yes, Professor? Please do explain to me how turning a stone into a goblet is beneficial to my future. Will it help me survive this bloody tournament? Will it save my life from Voldemort? No? Hmm, I didn't think so."** Harry waved his wand over the stone before him, intoned the spell clearly, and watched as it reshaped itself into a small goblet. **"There you are, ma'am. Spell completed. Next time Voldemort corners me, I'll be sure to start transfiguring stones into goblets so I can throw them at his face. I'm sure that will solve everything!"**

The bell rang. No one but Harry and Hermione reacted to it, packing their belongings and leaving the classroom. Once they had made it down the corridor, Hermione, curious, asked him what he had been saying, and Harry translated.

The girl huffed a little, but found she couldn't exactly _disagree_ with her friend's words. Professor McGonagall should have said that the spell was vital for Harry's _education_ , rather than his _future_. Because Harry's future was You-Know-Who, not the same thing as the rest of them...

* * *

Over the next few days, Harry didn't stop speaking in Parseltounge. Not even in class. It didn't matter who the professor was, Harry did it anyway, up until only Professors Moody and Snape were the only ones to have not experienced it, since Harry hadn't had their classes yet.

Though Hermione was the first person he had been speaking in English with, she wasn't the only one, having begun doing the same with Fred and George, who were pretty pissed off at the younger brother.

They liked sitting on either side of the emerald eyed teen in the common room, hissing away cheerfully, pretending they were having a conversation with him in Parseltongue, even though they weren't actually saying any words at all, and Harry just went off talking nonsense, or gossiping, since no one could understand what he was saying.

Word of what had been happening had already spread through the castle, and while the Hogwarts students had been horrified, the Beauxbatons students had merely been shocked, while the Durmstrange students had suddenly grown quite polite around Harry. _That_ certainly amused the teen.

Some people had approached him cautiously, asking him to stop, but he just stared at them in silence until they walked away. If they didn't, and stayed resolute, he broke into Parseltongue again, enjoying watching them squirm.

Harry had hardly begun, and he was already having so much fun! To quote Snape, 'Ah, revenge was sweet.'

 **And that's it for now. I've started on the next chapter, but I can't say when it'll be done. You may get another update tomorrow, and you may not. It's hard to say. Anyway, looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yo! One thing I'd like to clarify here-there's no pairing in this story. At least none that's been decided on. Hence why I've labelled it as 'preslash'. I want it clear that Harry is gay, and not just dicking around for no reason, when he's making all those comments about different dudes.**

 **Even if I _do_ decide on a pairing, it'll still stay preslash, because Harry's fourteen, and I don't ship him with guys his own age, because I don't like any of those pairings, and adults with a fourteen year old is really creepy. ...Well, when I'm the one writing it.**

 **I don't know how long this is going to be, or if it'll extend past fourth year. If it does, then I may add something, but otherwise, there likely won't be a pairing at all. Someone suggested Barty/Harry, and I gotta admit, I'm a sucker for that pairing, but we'll have to see how things go.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

It was time for Potions. It was time for Snape. Harry stood outside the dungeon classroom with the rest of the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins, all of whom, other than Hermione, seemed to be eyeing him cautiously. Malfoy hadn't said another word to him since that first day, but Harry knew that wasn't going to last. Not while Snape was around.

Good. He actually _hoped_ Malfoy started his childish behaviour again. Then he could tell him more about how sexy his father was! Harry smirked. His classmates shivered. This, they decided, wasn't going to be good.

The door opened on its own a moment later, and the students filed in, the door slamming shut behind them as they moved to their seats. They remained quiet. No one wanted to risk talking now, especially when they didn't know where exactly Snape was. They were sure he was watching them, just waiting for one of them to mess up. He always was.

Harry had no such qualms, mainly because he simply couldn't care less about Snape, or what he had to say. All he did was insult his father anyway. He sat hunched over on his stool, chin resting on the table top, blinking slowly, waiting for this bloody lesson to get started already. Did Snape get paid for being dramatic or something. ...Actually, yes, he did.

Snape stalked into the classroom a mere moment later. He moved to the front, tapped the chalkboard, and when the instructions appeared, ordered them to get to work. He didn't look like he was in a good mood. Well, more than usual, so everyone quickly started, not willing to risk his wrath.

Harry meanwhile, still didn't care. He began his work as well, bidding his time. Snape was going to come to him. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to belittle him. When did he ever? And sure enough...

Half way into the lesson, the emerald eyed teen noticed Snape approaching, and fought not to smirk. He waited for the man to get closer, waited for him to stop by his table, waited for him to glance into his cauldron-

"And _what_ is this meant to be, Potter?"

Harry smirked. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect opening. **"I don't know, sir. You're the one who assigned it. Why don't you tell me?"**

Snape flinched. The motion was barely noticeable, Harry only having seen it because he'd been looking, and huh, what a strange reaction. Oh ho! Was Snape _bothered_ by the sound of Parseltongue? How very curious.

The man's eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Show boasting, are you? How arrogant of you, just like your father. He also often d-"

 **"The man you call my father is a stranger to me,"** Harry replied calmly. **"I know more about that horse faced blond idiot you have the misfortune of calling 'godson' than I do James Potter. Do you realize that he's dead? No, you don't, do you? I sometimes wonder why you're supposed to be a smart man. You don't act it."**

"Potter-"

 **"What? What are you going to do? Deduct points? Assign me detention? You call me arrogant, but I think you're the most arrogant one here. Give me a proper reason to respect you, and I will. But until then, you, Snape, can go fuck yourself."** Harry, finished saying his piece, stirred his potion, before adding in the next ingredient and stirring it again.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor." And with that, Snape turned on his heel and returned to his desk.

This earned Harry a few glares from the other Gryffindors, save Hermione and Neville, but instead of ignoring them, Harry actually looked at them, fixing them with cold, emerald eyes.

 **"Have something to say? Upset I lost you precious points? Why don't you try and earn these points yourself, instead of relying on Hermione answering questions right, or me risking my life every year?"**

They didn't have an answer to that, not having understood him in the first place. Instead, they exchanged frightened glances, before quickly looking back down at their cauldrons. The Slytherins smirked, but Harry wasn't particularly pleased with that either.

 **"What? You find this funny?"** The smirks all vanished. **"Oh, not smiling now, are you? You like dishing it out but can't handle it when it's served to you, can you? Honestly, Hufflepuffs have more courage than you idiots."**

The Snakes looked away now too, sure they had just been insulted, but not sure what had been said. They wanted to retaliate, but who knew what Potter was going on saying in Parseltongue? What if he really _was_ darker than they thought? They weren't sure what to think.

Pleased with the reactions, Harry turned his attention back to his own cauldron, working away innocently, as if none of that had even happened. Hermione sighed in exasperation, but found herself exchanging an amused glance with Neville.

 **And that's it for now. I actually love Snape-he's one of my favourite characters in HP, but yeah, he's a right prick most of the time, unfairly too. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yo! I actually finished writing this chapter yesterday, but didn't have the time to post it for many reasons I don't feel like getting into right now. Not much Parseltongue in this chapter, but I like it regardless. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

By dinner, everyone in the castle seemed to have heard of his one way confrontation with Snape. Harry wasn't surprised by that at all. No, what he _did_ find surprising, was that Dumbledore hadn't cornered him yet, and questioned what he was doing or why. It was certainly very strange, he thought. Maybe he was too busy playing host. Tch, yeah right...

When breakfast came to an end the next morning, the fourth year Gryffindors, most of them anyway, didn't want to admit that they were actually very eager for Defence Against he Dark Arts later that day. Harry was still speaking to everyone, professors included, in Parseltongue, even Snape! They couldn't wait to find out how Moody was going to react, or if Harry even had the courage to talk in that dark tongue around someone like him.

As it happened, Harry _did_ have the courage. He was a Gryffindor, and unlike the other idiots in his House, he actually proved it often, not just to everyone else, but himself as well...

They settled in their seats in the Defence classroom, and chatted until they heard the clunking of Moody's wooden leg coming from down the corridor, which had them all falling silent. The door opened, Moody walked in, and the door fell shut behind him as he walked up to the front of the room, where his desk was.

He didn't waste any time, and promptly began the lesson. When he asked questions, he only called upon those who raised their hands, leaving those who hadn't volunteered an answer-like Harry, alone. The Lions save for Hermione, Neville, and Harry himself were the only ones who were bothered by this. Their professor either didn't notice, which was unlikely, or chose to ignore it, which was much more likely.

"Now, tell me why the only listed dark _spells_ are the Unforgivables."

There were many glances exchanged, but not a single hand was raised.

Moody's fake eye whizzed around, looking at them all. "No answers? Fine. Potter, you tell me."

Every single pair of eyes in the room landed on Harry, save his own, naturally, and he raised an unimpressed brow. Moody was not as intimidating as people thought he was. Evidently they had never met Vernon Dursley before. ...Although, the teen supposed his uncle was only intimidating to him because of the way he had been treated under his...' _care_ '.

He refocused, and answered the professor's posed question. **"Because the government's filled with ignoramuses?"**

Everyone turned eager gazes to their professor, waiting for the explosion. But it never came. Not the sort of explosion they had been hoping for, at least.

Moody stared, surprise and something else unidentifiable, oddly enough, flashing through his real eye. And then, despite obviously not having understood a single word, began to laugh, and sound really creepy. "Interesting skill there, lad. Wonder why no one told me about it before?"

Dumbledore hadn't told him? Well, that was weird. You'd think that would be the first thing he'd have told the ex Auror. Even a simple, 'Oh, but the way, the Boy-Who-Lived is a Parselmouth, so, you know, don't kill him if you hear him speaking in Parseltongue. He's one of the good guys,' or something like that.

Moody sobered, and fixed Harry with both his eyes, real and fake. "Care to repeat that in English?"

Since he wasn't being a rude prick, and hadn't ever been a rude prick, well, not to him, Harry decided to oblige, and repeated what he had said a moment ago, in English.

There were gasps of shock, everyone surprised that he had spoken to someone other than Hermione, or the Weasley twins in a language that wasn't Parseltongue.

"H-Harry?" It was Neville who spoke hesitantly.

Harry turned to look at him. "Yeah, Nev?"

"Are-are you okay?"

"I'm positively furious, thanks! What about you?"

Neville blinked. "Er, I-I'm fine."

"Harry!"

The smile on Harry's face vanished, and slowly, he glanced at Ron. **"Have anything interesting to say? No? Didn't think so**. Please continue, professor."

Moody chortled, then did so. Harry didn't know it, but the man was beyond intrigued, and his quick mind was already formulating plan after plan, creating, tuning, rejecting them one after another.

Though Harry wasn't aware of his professor's plans, he could tell that something about the man had changed the moment he had spoken in Parseltongue. It was certainly odd, and definitely not something he could explain, but he told himself that this was worth keeping an eye on...

 **So, thanks to the person who suggested a Barty/Harry pairing, I'm now going to make them friends. Why? Because I feel like it. No, they won't be romantically involved, don't worry. I still haven't decided what to do on that aspect. And if they're friends, it also means Harry will either join Voldy as an equal, or go neutral, because he won't be fighting for the light for much longer. What else will happen, I haven't yet thought of. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yo! Okay, let me say this again. At present, this fic has NO pairing. Since I don't pair Harry with anyone his age (except, rarely, Hermione and Luna), he's going to have to get a couple of years older for anything to happen. Which means, he'll likely have to start a friendship with them now, which will grow over time. In this fic, Harry is gay. Not straight, and not bi. Which means if I do eventually decide on a pairing, it will be with a man-it's labelled as preslash for a reason.**

 **And this man, should a pairing be chosen, will most likely be Barty, because why not? But again, I haven't even decided whether or not to put a pairing in. If you'd like to see Harry with Barty, feel free to let me know, but understand that there may NEVER end up being a romantic or sexual pairing at all. It depends on how this goes. I haven't thought that far ahead yet-hell, I don't even know what's going to happen in the chapter after the next one. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

Days went by, and Harry made no change in how he conducted himself. He continued to speak in Parseltongue, even in lessons, but none of the adults ever called him out on it. The only time he would answer them in English, was if they asked politely, or if Harry himself decided that the professor was worth speaking in English to-like Moody. But that wasn't something he did often. After the Defence professor, Flitwick and Hagrid were the only ones who got English from him, more often than Parseltongue. All the other professors had to suffer through the snake tongue.

And while they were certainly annoyed, they didn't have it as bad as the students. Harry remained fairly polite with all the visiting students, but the Hogwarts ones? Oh, _hell_ naw! _They_ were fair game. After all, the majority of them had never treated him right. Not until he had risked his life to, ultimately, save them, in a sense.

No, Harry didn't give a shit if any of them understood him or not. Frankly, they didn't deserve his kindness. Or his attention. Or his time. ...He wasn't going to let Snape know that though. The man would just compare him to his father again.

 **"You're annoying."**

 **"Are you sure you weren't dropped down a flight of stairs as a baby?"**

 **"You seriously think your parents aren't disappointed in you?"**

 **"Holy shit! You call that thing a face!?"**

 **"Ah ha, Malfoy! See your father recently? Tell him I had another dream about him, will you? I had him tied and blindfolded in bed. He kept talking though. ...Maybe I should have gagged him too?"**

Different people got different reactions from the teen, and most of them weren't particularly...friendly. Not that they knew that or anything.

When Harry wasn't going around offending people by speaking a language only snakes and Voldemort knew, he was busy trying to figure out what the first task was going to be, and what he needed to learn to get through it. He was fully aware that it was going to be dangerous, and was pretty sure it was something that could easily kill him.

But as that had already happened at this school multiple times over the past three years, well, Harry wasn't having an easy time narrowing things down.

Fighting a mountain troll? A deadly Quidditch match? Smuggling a dragon? Getting through a deadly forest? Sneaking past a giant three headed dog? Defeating a Dark Lord? Dodging a moving tree that liked to kill things? Trying not to end up dead by a professor's incompetence? Escaping a nest of giant spiders? Killing a sixty foot basilisk? Defeating a Dark Lord twice? Trying not to get run over by a crazy bus? A second deadly Quidditch match? Escaping a werewolf? Battling a hundred Dementors at once?

"Oh no, wait, all of that already happened."

"All of what already happened, Harry?"

Harry turned slowly, and looked up. **"I wasn't talking to you, Diggory. Why did you think I was? Didn't think the smart, pretty boy had time for a fourteen year old like me. You certainly don't seem to care that all your Housemates are constantly insulting me. Even if you don't agree with what they're saying, you sure as fuck aren't telling them to stop now, are you? Nice of you to want to risk your life for a bit of gold and fame that'll only last a year. Don't believe me? Go on, name at least one previous TriWizard Tournament winner. ...Nothing? I'm not surprised. Least you've still got parents."**

Not in the mood, Harry turned and walked away, leaving a surprised and confused Cedric staring after him. Harry didn't realize that a certain professor had been standing in the shadows of a nearby alcove, and had heard every word. Even though _he_ hadn't understood any of it, he knew someone who would...

* * *

When Harry walked into the Great Hall one morning in mid November, he was greeted by the sight of many pairs of eyes, everyone falling silent, before suddenly beginning to giggle when they saw him. Harry paused in place, sighed, and rolled his eyes before he resumed walking.

 **"For fuck's sake, now what?"** He settled down beside Hermione, who, without a word, handed him that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. He scanned through the article in question, and sighed inwardly. **"Skeeter. Figures it'd be that bitch."** Now he gasped dramatically, apparently shocked, and turned to his female friend. "Hermione! Why didn't you tell me we were dating!?"

Hermione met his gaze, looking equally shocked. "Harry! Why didn't _you_ tell _me_ we were dating!?"

They both looked at one another accusingly, and then, after a moment of silence, simply burst out laughing.

"So-so you two aren't together?"

Harry looked at a hopeful Ron, whose face fell the moment he spoke, in Parseltongue, of course. **"I don't remember saying anything to you. No, Hermione and I aren't dating. She doesn't have the right body parts. A few of your older brothers on the other hand, now _they're_ just _perfect_. Charlie and those **_**muscles**_ **of his... I bet Fred and George even** _ **share**_ **partners, huh...? And, oh, Bill and his** _ **everything**_ **!"**

Ron just blinked at Harry's dreamy look, completely unaware that he was now fantasizing about four of his brothers. ...That was probably actually a good thing though.

Hermione, however, had a feeling she _did_ know what Harry was thinking, and she nudged the Weasley twins, who exchanged a knowing and an amused grin.

 **And that's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Yo! A few people have mentioned wanting to see a Voldemort/Harry pairing, but I'm sorry, I'm going to have to disappoint. If there will be a pairing in this, it will be Barty/Harry. I have absolutely no issues with the former pairing whatsoever. In fact, out of the 23 HP fics I've posted, 17 of those have a pairing of Tom/Harry or Voldemort/Harry. That means, only 6 out of those 23 fics have either a different or no pairing. So yeah, I'd like to try something different, and like I said, I'm fond of Barty/Harry, and good fics with them that don't contain things I don't like, are rare. But, this is only if I actually do decide on adding actual romance/smut in the future. Oh, and just because Harry makes comments on certain people, or those people react in a certain way, doesn't mean something will happen between them! If something did, Harry would have himself a harem! ...Not that there's anything wrong with that. Thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

* * *

 **"'Support Cedric Diggory-Potter Sucks'?"** Harry rolled his eyes. **"Wow,** _ **real**_ **original, Malfoy. How long did it take you to figure** _ **that**_ **one out? Hmm, judging by the look on your face, longer than it probably should have. Used up all your brain cells doing it, did you?"**

Unlike all the other times this had happened, this time, Malfoy finally managed to gather enough courage to speak, and glared, grey eyes narrowed. It wasn't particularly effective though, seeing as he somehow looked utterly terrified at the same time. "You'll have to stop this eventually, Potter! My father will hear about this!"

 **"Oooh, I'm _so_ scared. Look. I'm positively shivering in my...well, I'm not wearing boots, so...robes? You'll tell dear old daddy about all this, will you? Mmm, please do. I'd **_**love**_ **to see your** _ **daddy**_ **again."** Grinning in satisfaction, Harry turned and walked away...

After that one way confrontation, Harry decided to spend the rest of his day skipping class, and using that time in an empty classroom, studying up on, and practising more spells. He still had a task he knew nothing about to prepare for, after all.

He didn't get to do this for long. Half way through what should have been his Potions class, the door to the room he was in burst open, and Snape stalked in dramatically, expression one of fury. ...Wait, how had he found him?

"Potter!"

Harry sighed explosively. **"Of _course_ it had to be you. Can't cut me some slack, can you? I mean, I'm only going to have to compete in an **_**extremely**_ **deadly task in what?-two weeks? A task I know** _ **nothing**_ **about, in a competition I know** _ **nothing**_ **about, where I'm being** _ **forced**_ **to compete by who the fuck even knows!?-it's obviously Voldemort. No, you don't give a shit. You aren't going to be satisfied until I'm dead, will you? Yeah, that'll teach that fucker James Potter, won't it?"**

"I have had enough of your nonsense, Potter. On your feet! Now!" He didn't wait. Instead, Snape reached down, and literally hauled Harry up to his feet, and proceeded to drag him out of the empty classroom, and up to, Harry assumed, Dumbledore's office.

...Ah, shit. Sighing inwardly, Harry yanked himself free and walked on his own. He wasn't a toddler! There was no need for him to be so fucking rough! It wasn't like they were in bed or anything. **"...Did I really just think that about Snape? ...I think I just scared myself."**

Coming to a stop outside the stone gargoyle, the Potions Master all but spat out the password, and then glared Harry up the spiral stairs, following behind him closely. He knocked on the door with the-

 **"Hey! That knocker is shaped like a griffin! And it's on a door! It's a griffin door knocker! ...That's not subtle at all. No wonder he's accused of favouritism all the time."**

They entered the large, circular room when they were called in, and found the Headmaster seated behind his desk. He seemed to have been waiting for them, because it didn't look like he'd been in the middle of anything. He was just sitting there, his hands folded on the desk, looking towards the door, blue eyes twinkling cheerfully from behind his half moon spectacles.

 **"Because** _ **that's**_ **not creepy or anything,"** Harry muttered. Well, as much as a person _could_ mutter while hissing.

"Severus! Harry! Come, have a seat, my boys!"

The two stepped forward, further into the room, but neither of them sat.

"Potter appears to have decided that he has better things to do than attend his Potions class," Snape accused immediately and heatedly.

Dumbledore merely inclined his head. "I see. Is this true, Harry? Have you skipped your lessons today?"

Harry drummed his fingers on the chair he was standing behind, debating with himself. Should he answer in English, or in Parseltongue? There were pros and cons to both choices, but Harry supposed it depended on how rude he wanted to be to the Headmaster, and that, in turn, would depend on how angry he was with the man.

After a long moment of silence, Harry came to a decision. "I was preparing for the tournament."

Surprised flashed in Snape's eyes, no doubt because Harry had chosen to speak in English, but he didn't speak.

"That may be so, but you are still required to attend your lessons. Your fellow competitors are all attending their own, and still finding time to prepare," Dumbledore replied sternly.

Harry just blinked. "They don't have as much to prepare for."

"And why do you say that?"

"They're all three years older than me, have more education than me, and entered this tournament _willingly_."

Snape scoffed, but Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping the dark clad man before he could say anything.

"Even so, Harry, that does not give you the right to neglect your studies. If your opponents have the time to study and prepare, you do as well."

Yeah, no. The more the old man said, the more frustrated Harry became, until he suddenly found himself speaking in the tongue of serpents again. **"That's just bullshit!"** he exclaimed angrily. **"Why don't any of you idiots understand that they're** _ **older**_ **than me! They did this** _ **willingly**_ **! They entered themselves into this fucking tournament because they** _ **wanted**_ **to! Because they** _ **think**_ **they're ready to risk their** _ **lives**_ **! Why is everyone** _ **praising**_ **them for entering this** _ **willingly**_ **, but** _ **insulting**_ **me for being** _ **forced**_ **into it!? Do you seriously think I want to do this!? I might die!** _ **Again**_ **! Those idiots have** _ **no**_ **idea what it's like to risk your life like that! And all for a bit of gold!? One thousand Galleons and a few months of fame is worth dying for!? Why is that okay!?"**

Snape had stiffened during this explosion of angered and frustrated hisses, but Dumbledore had continued to peer at him closely, though the twinkle had left his eyes. For a moment, no one spoke, not even the painting people, who were watching the scene before them closely.

Finally, Harry realized he had lost. Not only was he being forced to compete in an extremely deadly tournament he had never singed up for with three people three entire years older than him, he was also not going to be given the chance to study and prepare enough to close that shockingly wide gap between them and his fellow competitors.

The first task was only two weeks away...

 ***I think I've read somewhere that Dumbledore, at one point, understood, but can't speak Parseltongue. Yeah, let's pretend that's not the case, and that he doesn't understand shit, alright? Anyway, looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yo. Do I know what exactly is going to happen in this fic yet? Nope! But things generally work out better when I don't plan, so hey, let's see where this thing goes! I do have a few minor plans, of course, but nothing beyond that. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

The days continued to pass, and as they did, Harry only grew more and more stressed. He still knew absolutely nothing about what this bloody task was going to be! How was he supposed to prepare for it!? He wondered if the other three champions knew anything, and if there was any way he could glean any information off them.

He debated on that for some time, wondering who the weakest link was going to be. Cedric was out altogether. Harry didn't really want to have anything to do with him. That left Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum. Hmm, who would be more ready to give him information?

The more he thought about it, the more he leaned towards Fleur. She already thought of him as a little boy, and had been quite polite to him since the 'reveal' of him being a Parselmouth. He could go to her, putting that little boy act on, innocent and terrified with no idea what he was going to have to do, and couldn't she please, please help him because he was really scared and what if he died?

Harry wasn't scared of death, and he had always been a vindictive little bastard-the type of person who would return to haunt his enemies as a ghost after his death. He didn't particularly want to humiliate himself in front of her like that either, so he let that plan fall to the back of his mind. He wasn't putting it away entirely. It would be a last resort.

What else could he do?

The closer November twenty second got, the more stressed Harry became. But he wasn't the only one. It was clear to him that his fellow competitors were starting to worry as well, but honestly, Harry had no sympathy for them. They had made their choice, and now they had to live with it, whatever it entailed.

* * *

The day before the first task happened to also be the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry and Hermione went to the village together, soon joined by Neville. Ron , they noticed, had decided to hang out with Dean and Seamus instead. Well, that was fine. Harry didn't want to be around the redhead until he apologized anyway. And it was Hermione's choice to stick with Harry, instead of betraying him too, though it was clear that she did somewhat miss Ron. Harry couldn't fault her for that, but none of them talked about it.

Instead, seated at a table at the Three Broomsticks, the three discussed the tournament, none of them particularly pleased or eager for the event.

"Do you have any idea what the task tomorrow will be?" Neville asked curiously.

Nursing his Butterbeer, Harry shook his head. "None. I've been practising, or at least trying to, but it's kinda hard to do that when you have no idea what your practising _for_ , you know?"

"Well, we know it's going to be quite dangerous," said Hermione. "I've done some reading on previous TriWizard Tournaments, and every single task, without fail, has been deadly in some way."

"Have people died in every tournament?"

"No, not at all. There were some where no one was even hurt! Actually, it was the last few tournaments where the problems _really_ began. I don't know what changed, exactly, but something clearly did, because in the last seven TriWizard Tournaments in a row, every single competitor died. That's twenty two children! The age law in this year's tournament wasn't in place back then, so students eleven to seventeen were all able to compete, so the vast majority of those who died weren't even of age yet! Of course, adding them to those who had already died in earlier makes the death toll quite-quite high."

Neville looked horrified. "I can see why Dumbledore wanted the Age Line put in this year. Merlin."

"Not that it worked," Harry muttered, green eyes flickering to the table a few feet away where Ron, Dean, and Seamus were seated, the three boys chortling loudly at some joke or another.

"No," Hermione sighed, "not that it worked..."

* * *

Harry lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, and utterly terrified. Not that he was ever going to admit that. And though Neville wasn't in as deep a sleep as usual, judging by his lack of snoring, the same couldn't be said for the other three they shared the dorm with. They clearly didn't feel any sort of concern for going into tomorrow. In fact, they were probably just excited.

Harry wished he could be excited too. Wished he, like everyone else, could look forward to sitting in the audience and watching the three willing competitors challenge themselves to the limit for gold and fame. Who would he have been rooting for in that case? Would he have been showing school pride and rooted for Cedric? Would he have rooted for the international Quidditch player Viktor Krum? Or would he have rooted for the pretty, intelligent, part Veela Fleur Delacour? He would have loved to sit and watch them, would have loved to discuss and bet who would win with his best friends Ron and Hermione.

But he couldn't. Because he was Harry Potter and he was fate's whipping boy. And it sucked, it really did, but honestly, what was complaining going to do? He could fight and argue all he wanted and that was fine, but if there was one thing his time with the Dursleys had taught him, it was that complaining not only never helped, it generally only made things worse.

 **So, I don't really know where Neville came from in all this, but hey, I like him so I'm keeping him around. Some have asked when Luna will get involved, and I'm not positive. Since she wasn't around in canon yet, I'm thinking of where and when to add her in. It'll happen, I'm just working on it. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yo! You know, I'm really tired of people telling me what to do. Not even asking. Telling. Demanding. IF there will be a pairing in this, then as I stated previously, it will be Barty/Harry. If I decide not to include a pairing, then the two will still be friends. Barty is the ONLY person Harry will be shipped with in this fic, IF I decided to actually add a romance aspect in. I don't know yet, but telling me what to do is seriously not helping. And one person asked why Harmony can't be possible. ...This is a slash fic. That's why. Unless you want me to genderbend Hermione into a dude. ...Which I might do one day, who knows. Also, an anon pointed out that those who keep questioning/demanding unreasonable thing are those who don't read AN's. I know that's totally true, but ranting like this makes me feel better! (^_^)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

When Harry got up in the morning, it was with a heavy heart. It was eight in the morning, the first task was due to begin in just three hours, and he still had absolutely no idea what the task even _was_. Tch, he was going to kill whoever did this. ...Who was he kidding? As if he could actually kill Voldemort.

After doing his usual morning routine, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall. He was alone, but that didn't really matter. Most left him alone now, especially since he still mainly only spoke in Parseltongue. He was panicking, of course, regardless of how much he was trying to hide it, but it wasn't like he had a choice here.

So he choked down some breakfast, followed McGonagall to the tent the champions were to wait in, and listened as the stadium filled up with all the other students and professors and judges and press and whoever else Harry didn't care to know of. He had an encounter with Bagman that made it obvious the man was literally betting on him winning, and then Crouch came in, finally revealing what the task was.

Needless to say, Harry was not pleased. How in the _world_ was he going to get past a _dragon_ of all things!?

He sat there nervously as the minutes went by. His turn was last, so he was left listening to the other three try to complete the task one after another, Bagman's commentary seriously not helping matters at all. Eventually, his turn was up, and stepping out into the stadium was like stepping into a nightmare.

The dragon was, of course, the first thing he saw. The massive creature sat over her nest of eggs, not even realizing one of them was so obviously fake. And she didn't even wait. The moment she spotted Harry, she began roaring loudly. The teen hid behind a rather large rock, just so he'd have some cover if the dragon began breathing fire towards him, and thought hard.

It wasn't easy to do. The crowd was almost as loud as the dragon was. Most of them being Hogwarts students, jeered at him, taunted him, mocked him. Harry was sure some of them at least were expressing concern, but they couldn't be heard above the ones who clearly wanted to see him get hurt. They were probably pleased they could now do this without him going off on them in Parseltongue as he usually did. And all this did was piss Harry off more.

In hindsight, it was probably an extremely stupid and dangerous idea, but Harry, too angry and frustrated to care, moved out from behind his cover and advanced on the still roaring dragon. **"Hey! Will you calm down already, lady!?"**

The Hungarian Horntail fell silent immediately. The crowd did too.

 **"Jeez! You're going to wake the dead with all that roaring! I bet you're even disturbing my parents right now!"**

Whispers had broken out throughout the crowd, but Harry didn't even notice, his focus entirely on the dragon who...leaned down towards him.

 **"Well, this is a surprise,"** she spoke slowly. It was Parseltonue she was speaking in, but it had a rather heavy accent to it, which made it clear it wasn't a language she spoke in often, if ever, though she clearly knew it. **"How fascinating that you know this tongue, little hatchling. That is very rare."** She leaned down even further to get a better look at him.

Harry just nodded. **"I think it's because of the guy who tried to kill me when I was a baby. I was told he transferred some of his powers to me then."**

 **"Really? How very strange. That is not something I thought possible. You said your parents were dead?"**

 **"Yeah, during that same attack."**

The dragon almost...crooned at him. **"Poor hatchling, left all alone. I cannot imagine leaving my little ones on their own. Not until they are big and strong. You are not yet prepared for such a struggle."**

And soon enough, Harry was seated cross legged on the ground, having a rather interesting conversation with the Horntail that no one else understood even a single word of.

The whispers in the crowd turned to mutters, then eventually, yells, but Harry was too caught up in his discussion to pay them any mind. He didn't care what they had to say anyway. And besides, this dragon was _way_ more interesting and-wait, Charlie did _that_!?

After what must have been a good half hour, mainly judged by the fact that his arse had gone numb, Harry decided it was time to inform the dragon that a fake egg had been placed among the real ones. He was sure to emphasize that it wasn't at all _his_ fault, and that it was all on the adults that this was happening.

The Horntail was far from pleased and readily nudged the large golden egg towards him, hissing about bloodthirsty adults unworthy of even being around children, let alone having their own. She crooned at Harry again, nudged him gently (though he still stumbled slightly at the force), made him promise to visit her one day, and finally properly retreated back to her eggs.

Once she had, Harry simply picked up the golden egg and walked out of the stadium, and was immediately accosted by Madam Pomfrey, who didn't listen to a word he said when he tried to assure her he was alright. Mainly because she didn't actually believe him. He supposed he couldn't blame her.

When the Medi-Witch determined that he was, indeed, alright, Harry simply returned to the castle. He didn't give a damn about his scores or what anyone had to say about it. Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George all seemed to have the same idea in mind, because he ran into them half way there, and they made their way back together, Harry explaining what had happened and what he and the dragon had spoken of, including the _thing_ Charlie did, which had the twins gaping, Neville blinking in confusion, and Hermione blushing like crazy.

Well, at least all that had gone better than expected. One task down, two more to go.

 **And that's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yo! Am I ever going to tell you what Charlie did? No, no I'm not. Why? Because I personally find it funnier to allow minds to wander and come up with their own bizarre theories. Do I care if you disagree? No, not at all. Thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

Harry and his friends took a rather long and unnecessary detour on their way up to Gryffindor Tower, spending that time talking and wondering what was going to happen now. The adults, Hermione claimed, surely weren't going to be pleased that Harry had walked off without hearing his scores, but Harry simply shrugged at that. It wasn't like he cared about winning. He just wanted to survive.

He was competing because he had no other choice-because, according to the adults, the magical binding contract would take away his magic if he didn't. Even if he got zero scores all around for the entire tournament, it still counted as him competing, which meant the contract would be fulfilled. So in other words, he didn't give a shit about how he scored, so long as he didn't lose his magic.

When they finally entered the tower, it was to find what was clearly a party, everyone celebrating his 'victory' and it took Ron all of two seconds to approach him to apologize. Harry stared at him, then turned on his heel and walked out, despite the voices calling him back and congratulating him.

 _Hypocritical, shallow idiots can go fuck themselves_ , he thought mutinously, not in the mood to deal with all this right now. Harry holed himself up in an empty classroom alone, and just minutes later was joined by Fred and George, who had brought him some food and Butterbeer, having noticed he had barely eaten anything for breakfast. With Hermione and Neville dealing with Ron, the three of them were left alone, and they sat together, talking quietly.

They didn't actually talk about anything particularly serious, the twins no doubt aware that he just wanted to relax a little. Harry appreciated that consideration, he really did. These two had always been sweet that way...

* * *

The days continued to pass. Harry sort of tried to figure out what kind of clue the golden egg was supposed to be giving him, but honestly, he was kind of procrastinating. February was a while away. There was no rush. Also, he didn't really care.

There was something else he soon learned of that he didn't care about either-the Yule Ball. Gross. Amazingly though, despite the fact that he wasn't speaking to any of them but Hermione in English, plenty of girls still approached him to ask him to go to the Ball with them. Harry refused them all, of course-in Parseltongue...and maybe also by laughing.

But there was a bit of a problem. As one of the unfortunate champions, Harry was supposed to start off the ball by dancing with his date along with the other champions. He had no choice. This was something he _had_ to do. And that was something that just sucked balls.

He didn't really care about going with a girl, mainly because the only girl he'd even _want_ to go with (as a friend) was Hermione, who had already been asked by someone else. So who did he want to go with? A guy, preferably. ...Neville? No, he had asked Ginny. Dean and Seamus both had dates already too. Definitely not Ron.

What about Fred or George? ...Ooh, or maybe both? One on each arm? That would be interesting, wouldn't it? Probably scandalizing too.

Perfect.

* * *

Just days before the ball, Harry, unable to sleep, was poring over the Marauders' Map-something he tended to do on nights like this when he couldn't sleep. It was always interesting to see which professors were patrolling where, and which Prefects were actually doing their jobs, and which students were obviously sleeping with who.

But tonight he noticed something a whole lot stranger. Bartemius Crouch was not only in the castle, but in Moody's rooms. That was odd, because he was one hundred perfect positive that Crouch hadn't been here since the first task. So what was he doing in Moody's rooms? And why was he awake, but Moody asleep, since he was the one who kept pacing?

How odd. This was something he was going to have to look into more in the morning...

He did just that, and boy did he figure out something really fucking strange! Mad-Eye Moody was not who he claimed he was at all. According to the Marauders' Map (which was always correct), Moody was being impersonated by Bartemius Crouch, while the _real_ Moody remained in his rooms, possibly restrained or drugged or something.

But the problem with Crouch impersonating Moody, was that Harry had very definitely seen both men in the same location at the exact same time. So how could that be? He doubted the _real_ Moody was out and about when Crouch was around, so what was the deal here? It couldn't be the use of a Time-Turner, could it? What was happening...?

On Christmas Eve, the day before the ball, after Harry saw Crouch in the Great Hall with Dumbledore (along with Moody, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick), the green eyed teen hurried back up to Gryffindor Tower, leapt onto his bed, shut the hangings, and pulled out the Marauders' Map, which he examined closely and critically.

And sure enough-

"I fucking _knew_ there was something off about all this!" he whispered ecstatically. According to the Map, Bartemius Crouch was currently in the Great Hall with the Headmaster and professors. Alastor Moody, however, was in his personal rooms, even though he had been in the Hall himself just a moment before, and would never have been able to return to his rooms that quickly thanks to his limp, which made it safe to say he had never been in the Great Hall in the first place. And the only reason Harry believed this was the case, was because in the Hall were _two_ people with the name Bartemius Crouch.

Now, Harry frowned. Two, huh? One of those was, of course, the Crouch he knew, but that only meant that the second one was the person impersonating Moody. But who were they? Why did they have the same name as Crouch? And why were they doing this?

Harry _had_ to find out. He _had_ to know.

 **I was actually originally going to end the chapter just after Harry decides on taking the twins to the ball with him, but I had the next part written and figured it ended at a decent point as well, so I decided to add it to this chapter instead of starting the next one off with it instead. Anyway, looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Yo! So, you may have noticed I've listed/tagged a pairing-Barty/Harry, but it still also says 'preslash'. I've finally decided for sure that if there will be a pairing at all, it will be this one, and while Harry is young, it will merely be hinted towards, hence the preslash. If this fic extends past fourth year (which I'm not sure of yet because I'm shit at planning fics out), then the pairing can become an actual pairing, but since I have no idea how long this fic will be yet, it's going to stay preslash with Barty/Harry for the time being, with them becoming friends first. And if you're not down with that, (insert wrestling joke here). ...I'm tired. Guys, I haven't slept decently in like, three days. Seriously. I've gotten eight hours of sleep in total over the past seventy whatever hours. Kill me now.**

 **Also, I have no idea why I got a sudden random surge of faves and follows for this fic at once a few days ago, despite it not having been updated in like, four months, but uh...thank you to all readers so far?**

Harry waited until nightfall. After curfew he slipped out of bed, making sure he had the Marauders' Map and his Invisibility Cloak on him, and then quietly left Gyffindor Tower. Silently, eyes on the map, hidden beneath the cloak, he cautiously made his way through the castle towards Moody's rooms.

Moody wasn't moving much again, but Crouch-the one he didn't know, was pacing again quickly, as if he were agitated. The other Crouch, the one Harry _did_ know, seemed to be asleep in one of the many guest rooms.

When he finally reached the correct room, he cleared and stashed the map in his pocket and pulled off his cloak, shoving that away too before knocking on the door. It was a bold move. An idiotic one as well. There were _so_ many ways for this to end badly. He was fully aware of that, but he did it anyway. ...He probably wasn't going to tell Hermione about this though. She was going to kill him.

At first nothing happened. Harry just knocked again. And again. And again. And then he tried to open the door. Nothing again. It was locked. He frowned, annoyed. Crouch clearly wasn't planning on opening the door any time soon, but Harry wasn't going to allow that. He had questions and he wanted answers. Now.

 **"Open,"** he hissed out in Parseltongue. He heard the lock click, and blinked in surprise. He actually hadn't expected that to work, only having tried it out on a hunch. But now wasn't the moment to question that. He opened the door and stepped into Moody's rooms, shutting the door behind him and turning to look around.

It was dark in here, he noticed, the only light coming from the lit hearth. There was no one in sight. Harry cocked his head. Unless Crouch had escaped into "Moody's" office, he had to be in here somewhere. But where?

Cautiously, Harry moved further into the room, peering around curiously, wondering why exactly he hadn't pulled his wand out yet. The rooms seemed like they were really plain, but if there was someone here pretending to be Moody, that really wasn't surprising. With how paranoid Moody was, Harry doubted anyone ever actually tried to come in here. Either way, this was getting kind of weird.

"How did you get in here?"

Harry froze. The voice had sounded from directly behind him, close enough that he was actually surprised he hadn't heard the man come up so close to him. But even more, that voice didn't belong to either Moody or that stickler Mr Crouch. Was this the person behind the reason of there being two people named Bartemius Crouch on the Marauders' Map?

"Answer me!"

"...Being a Parselmouth really is a very useful skill, you know."

"Parselmouth? ...You spoke in Parseltongue to get inside these rooms?"

"Yep. Sure did."

The man, whoever he was, made a soft sound of surprise, though he didn't say anything more for a long, tense moment. Feeling that the man was busy thinking, Harry decided to try and take a peak at the stranger's face, and began shifting around. He barely even moved though before a rather large hand clamped down on his shoulder somewhat harshly, stopping him immediately.

"Keep still. Do not move."

Harry obeyed, getting the feeling that listening for the moment was the best thing to do for his health and safety right now. But not moving didn't mean not speaking. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Why do you care to know?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he countered. "You're not Moody, and you're not Crouch, but here you are, under Crouch's name, impersonating Moody and possibly, even likely, keeping him hostage. I think all of that is enough of a reason for wanting to know who you are."

The man chuckled softly, the hand on Harry's shoulder tightening almost painfully. "You know more than you should, Potter. Why do you think I should let you leave this room now?"

Harry wasn't at all intimidated, and couldn't help but role his eyes. "Oh please, Harry Potter going missing during the TriWizard Tournament will be the biggest news until Voldemort comes back. Everyone's going to notice that I'm gone-pretty much immediately too, seeing as I'm kind of in the spotlight thanks to this whole daft tournament. Getting rid of me won't benefit you in any way, and I think you're smart enough to know that too."

Though the teen didn't know it, he was exactly right. The stranger knew _exactly_ what he was talking about-had already been thinking of it all himself. He had never intended to actually do anything to Harry, especially since he had no desire to draw any attention to himself just yet. All he had been attempting to accomplish was scare Potter off, though it didn't seem like that was going to work.

"No, Potter, I am not Alastor Moody. Neither am I the Bartemius Crouch that you speak of. I will tell you that much." He released his shoulder, slinking back into the shadows before Harry could turn around to see his face. "Get out, Potter, before you're caught out of bed."

Deciding not to try his luck, Harry quickly used this chance to leave the rooms, hearing the door shut and lock behind him. But that was fine. He wasn't sure if the man had done it on purpose or not, but his last few words there had already given Harry something new to look into.

The man had said he wasn't Moody, which Harry really did believe without question. But it was the second denial there that had piqued Harry's interest. He had said that he wasn't the Crouch that Harry was 'speaking of'. All that made Harry think was that there was _another_ Bartemius Crouch out there that he _hadn't_ been speaking of.

But was it really that simple?

 **That's it for now. Next chapter will be the Yule Ball. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...**

The Yule Ball ended up being as scandalous as Harry been hoping for.

After leaving 'Moody's' rooms, Harry had gone straight back to Gryffindor Tower and gotten into bed, though his thoughts had been whirling too much for him to actually get any sleep. By the time it was fully light out, he was sure he had only slept for about an hour, if even that.

He wanted to find out what the man, whoever he was, had been speaking of, but Harry honestly wasn't the best at research and had absolutely no idea where to start. The best thing he could do, he figured, was get Hermione involved, but...he couldn't tell her what had happened. She would kill him for being so reckless!

Maybe he could make something up? Pretend he had just happened to overhear something and grown curious? Or maybe it _was_ better to simply tell her the truth. He knew he could trust her. Really, he just didn't want her to start yelling at him!

Either way, with today being the day of the Yule Ball, he didn't even have the time to tell her. Well, _he_ did, but _she_ didn't. Apparently girls needed a whole lot more time to get dressed for fancy occations than boys did. Harry didn't really understand that, but seeing the way some of the girls had glared at some of the boys for questioning it, made Harry think it was better to just keep quiet.

So with Hermione not around, Harry ended up spending his time with Neville instead. He was going to go to the ball with Ginny, evidently. Harry hoped that meant the girl didn't have a crush on him anymore. It was sweet, but she wasn't his type. In more ways than one...

* * *

When evening arrived and it was time for the ball, Harry, once he had changed, headed down to the Entrance Hall on his own, having planned on meeting his date, or rather, _dates_ , there.

The whispers started almost immediately, most he could hear seeming surprised he was actually there, and amused and not particularly surprised that he appeared to be alone. But the gossiping whispers stopped soon enough when all the students entered the Great Hall, leaving only the necessary students behind. And it was now that Harry took the time to examine his fellow competitors and their own dates.

His eyes fell on Fleur first who really did look very pretty, giving off an aura of her own, no doubt thanks to the bit of Veela blood she had in her. Her date, on the other hand, someone whose name Harry could never remember, left much to be desired.

Then he noticed Cedric, Cho Chang on his arm. He figured that wasn't all too surprising. They were in different Houses, sure, and had of course, played Quidditch against one another before, both of them in a Seeker position, but clearly they had something or another between them, mostly judging by the way they kept looking at each other.

And then he looked to Krum and-and...wait. Harry blinked. Well, he certainly hadn't seen _that_ coming. He had always thought Hermione hadn't liked Krum, but here she was, clutching his arm, a blush on her cheeks. She looked very pretty too, he decided. She was going to have to be sure to keep away from a certain red head who was surely going to pitch a fit when he saw her though.

Professor McGonagall bustled over just a moment later, quickly taking in who was left in the Entrance Hall, before turning to Harry, her brow pinched. "Where is your date, Mr Potter?"

It was Hermione who answered though, no doubt aware Harry was only going to do so in Parseltongue, which wasn't going to get anyone anywhere. "Fashionably late, I assume?"

Suppressing a grin, Harry nodded but said nothing. McGonagall pressed her lips together, but before she could say anything more, Fred and George arrived, grinning. Apologizing, they approached Harry, greeting him in incoherent hisses that they were pretending was Parseltongue. Harry, in return, greeted them in actual Parseltongue, not that they understood him.

McGonagall frowned again. "Are- Is one of you... Is one of you Potter's date?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance, and then, together, said, "We both are."

There was a gasp of surprise, possibly from Cho, and McGonagall stared before hurrying away, mentioning something about this being very 'unconventional', not that Harry or the twins cared in the slightest. He knew things were only going to get even worse when they entered the Great Hall anyway.

The massive doors opened and the champions, along with their dates, began to enter. Fleur and her date-Roger, was it?-went first, followed by Cedric and Cho, then Krum and Hermione. Finally, Harry walked in, Fred and George on either of his arms. Or, more like he was on theirs. The cheers that had been echoing throughout the hall abruptly fell silent.

Only the twins were aware of the way Harry had tensed, his grip on their arms tightening. They whispered, both of them, one after another, quietly reassuring him that everything was alright. Harry didn't say anything in response, but inclined his head slightly to show that he was hearing them.

He didn't normally mind being around crowds like this or anything-he _did_ play Quidditch, after all. But that didn't mean he didn't get nervous, and he knew a whole lot of these people were currently very annoyed by him, and he was actively trying to annoy them even more, which was something that could very easily go wrong. Especially today when emotions were high.

Now that he was here, Harry was actually very glad he had the twins with him. It made him feel much better and safer. Also, they were cute, so that was a very nice bonus.

The champions and their dates joined the adults at the larger table, and as everyone began to have their dinner, whispers broke out, quickly becoming louder and louder. But the twins kept Harry focused on them instead, the three conversing quietly. Dinner was all fine and well-it was the coming dance that was making Harry anxious, even though he was pretending otherwise.

They spoke in English, or rather, Harry did, mostly because it couldn't be avoided if they actually wanted to be able to talk to each other. While the twins were perfectly content to pretend to speak to Harry in Parseltongue, it wasn't like they actually could, and not being able to talk to each other for the entire night was just going to be annoying. That didn't mean they had to talk to anyone else though, which they didn't, unless they were speaking to Hermione, though most of her attention was on Krum at the moment, understandably.

But soon dinner came to an end and the four champions and their dates moved to the centre of the hall, more surprised and confused whispers breaking out when both Fred _and_ George joined Harry. Apparently it was bad enough that Harry's dates were males (which was evidently unheard of), but the fact that there were _two_ of them? Oh yeah, this was _definitely_ going to be on the front page of the paper. Harry was sure there were going to be many a few doing some pearl clutching tomorrow morning.

The dance was slightly awkward, mostly for those watching. Harry, kept sandwiched between Fred and George, barely noticed, the three trying their best to do a three person waltz without breaking out into laughter. Judging by Hermione's giggling, it was probably a sight to behold.

All three of them then escaped the Great Hall after the mandatory dance, once all the other students had taken up the 'dance floor'. None of them had really even wanted to be there at all, having better things to do. Or rather, _Harry_ didn't want to be there, and the twins wanted to make sure he had some company since his other friends were all at the ball. It wouldn't be fair to leave him alone, after all, and Fred and George hardly minded. They weren't particularly fond of dress robes anyway.

Not caring if anyone was watching (and perhaps hoping, as the twins both planted a kiss to Harry's cheeks as they left), the three made their way over to an abandoned classroom, had food and drinks brought to them by Dobby, and spent time laughing and joking, having their own little party.

Barty, disguised as Moody, watched the three go, an amused smirk on his face that was easily passed off as an uncomfortable grimace. Potter was nothing like the Dark Lord had warned him about. He really was becoming very intrigued by him.

 **That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!**

Pictures of Harry and Fred and George at the Yule Ball together were in the papers for a good week, always on the front page, and followed by articles containing quotes from many scandalized old men and women who couldn't believe the boys' audacity in doing something so _improper_.

In response, Rita Skeeter asked Harry for a few words, wanting to hear why he had chosen the Weasley twins as his dates. Harry answered her many unnecessary and probing questions in Parseltongue so, even with her Quick Quotes Quill, Rita got a whole lot of nothing from him. Just as Harry wanted.

But now that the Yule Ball was mercifully over with, Harry had other things to worry about. While he still had some time, the second task was coming up, and since that stupid golden egg supposedly held some kind of clue about that next task, well, he probably had to try to solve it. He didn't give a damn about getting top scores or anything like that, but he _had_ to compete, and he didn't particularly want to die during this daft spectacle, so yeah, he'd have to try a little bit, at least. Enough not to get himself killed, at any rate. And he had a feeling that being a Parselmouth _probably_ wasn't going to be all that helpful this time around.

The problem was that he had no idea what sort of clue the egg was supposed to hold. All it did was scream at him when he opened it, and he couldn't actually hear anything interesting under all the screaming. Ugh, this whole thing was so stupid. Too bad the internet wasn't something that existed in this world. He wondered what would happen if he looked up 'screaming eggs'. Researching in the library was an option, of course, but he had absolutely no idea where to start or what to look for...

"If you don't tell me what you're hiding, I'm pitching you in the damn fire," Harry muttered, glaring at the large golden egg that sat on the ground innocently.

"You should try opening it underwater."

Blinking, and a little caught off guard since he had thought he was alone (considering he was sitting in the courtyard despite how dark and cold and snowy it was), Harry looked up. There was a girl standing nearby, her dirty blonde hair flying around her as she shielded her pretty blue eyes from the blowing snow. He didn't recognize her, but Harry could see a Ravenclaw tie peaking out from under the collar of her cloak.

"Underwater?" he said instead. He didn't even think of speaking in Parseltongue to her as he would have to pretty much anyone else. He wasn't sure why, but there was something about her that felt really...peaceful.

"Yes. Underwater. Snakes aren't the only creatures with their own language." She smiled gently. "Good luck, Harry Potter." And then she walked away, leaving Harry alone outside once more.

Harry watched her go, a little bemused, but decided her words were definitely worth considering. She _was_ right, after all. All creatures had their own language. Maybe this weird screaming was one too, incomprehensible to _him_ , but perfectly normal for something else. But she'd specified underwater. So did that mean it was some underwater creature doing all this screaming? What creatures lived in the water? He'd look that up later, he decided. Right now he had a tip to check out.

Where could he find a bathtub? The bathrooms in the dorms only had showers-the Quidditch locker rooms too. The lake was an option, but seeing as it was winter and they were up in the north, the water was going to be cold as tits and he didn't particularly feel like freezing to death because of the damned egg...

* * *

"A bathtub?"

Harry nodded. He and Hermione were sitting at a secluded table in the corner of the library, talking in low whispers so they wouldn't be heard by Madam Pince, the always grumpy librarian. Harry had just finished telling his friend about what that Ravenclaw girl had said to him, and what he had thought of himself after that.

Hermione frowned. "If the girls had a bathtub I'd try to sneak you in, or at least take the egg and check the clue myself, but we don't have one either." She sighed rather mournfully. "I really wish Hogwarts had more tubs. Don't you miss taking baths?"

"I've never had a bath," said Harry calmly, though it was really more of a statement. The Dursleys hardly let him take showers that lasted more than five minutes-an actual bath was completely out of the question.

Hermione winced, no doubt realizing that. "Well, in any case, I think only the professors have actual bathtubs. The Prefects do too-there's a separate bathroom for them with a massive bath, from what I've heard."

Harry braced his elbows on the table. "I can't get a professor to check the clue for me, and I highly doubt any of them would be willing to let me into their bathroom. ...That sounds kind of creepy. Is the Prefect's bath password protected?"

"Yeah, or that's what Percy told me ages ago, at least."

"I haven't been paying any attention to this, but who are the Prefects now?"

Hermione hesitated. "No one who, er, likes you very much right now. Cedric Diggory is one though."

Harry's face scrunched up. "Yeah, I'm not asking Diggory for help."

"Didn't think you would," said Hermione casually. She looked around thoughtfully, one of her fingers tapping on the table. "Maybe Fred and George know how to get in," she said abruptly. "They know all sorts of odd passageways and passwords, don't they?"

Harry nodded slowly. "True. I guess I could ask them. I could check the map too-it did give me the password for that one passa-"

A sudden cough from behind one of the nearby shelves interrupted Harry mid sentence, and hidden in the no doubt fake cough was a single word that both Harry and Hermione were just barely able to make out: Pinefresh.

The cough subsided, a book was taken off the shelf, and a clunking showed the person was walking away from them, leaving them be. The teens exchanged a confused glance. They had recognized the person by the sounds alone, even if they hadn't seen them, but...

"Why would Professor Moody give you the password for the baths?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Ah." Realizing he hadn't actually told Hermione what he had discovered, Harry dragged a hand though his hair, feeling a little agitated. "Probably because he _isn't_ actually Moody?" And when he only got a look of confusion in response, he sighed and explained...

Hermione's frown had only deepened the more she had heard, and Harry could tell by the look in her eyes that she was already eager to start researching. He couldn't really blame her for that. "Not Alastor Moody and not the Bartemius Crouch that you know... Interesting. I wonder what he meant by that?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Any chance you can look into it?"

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed, seeming a little affronted he had even _considered_ otherwise. "And as an aside-what were you _thinking_ doing that!? Do you _know_ how _dangerous_ that was!? He could have _killed_ you!"

Harry grinned, already having expected the reaction, and did his best to pacify his dear friend.

 **That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!**


End file.
